O judge my cry not as rebellion but as the pilgrimage of a heart that bleeds for justice.

Amada Paul Israel
@israelamadapaul172464
2 months ago

THE VIGIL OF THE FORSAKEN: TEARS BURNT TOGETHER WITH THE BLOOD



I.
I write, and my pen trembles like a reed in a storm,
for I, I alone, must bear witness to the night.
I, a Christian carved from clay and covenant,
stand beneath a sky that bleeds unanswered prayers.
I watch my homeland groan like an old lion speared in its sleep,
and I, I must speak, though silence courts my bones.

II.
I have seen villages swallowed by fire.
I have heard the wails of mothers over burnt cradles.
I have felt the blood of innocence warm the dust beneath my feet.
My memories cling to me like shadows that refuse dawn,
and I, I stagger beneath their weight.
The sun rises, but peace does not.

III.
I fear a kingdom cracking along the lines of faith,
as if some invisible sculptor chisels us apart
with hands ancient, patient, and merciless.
I feel abandoned by powers sworn to shield me.
I feel like a lone sentinel shouting at deafened gods.
And I, I am tired of the echo.

IV.
O world,
I cry to you across oceans of indifference.
If your ears be stone, then break,
for I shall hammer my sorrow upon you until you hear.
Let no court of kings dismiss this lamentation,
for I, I speak not in whispers
but in the thunder of a wounded soul.

V.
I fear that some among us choose silence
not for peace
but for survival.
I see leaders wrapped in veils of denial,
afraid that truth may cost them breath.
But I, I cannot bind my tongue with fear,
for truth is a fire that consumes the coward
and crowns the courageous.

VI.
Let no man say that I am blinded by grievance.
I am blinded only by tears.
Let no man say that I exaggerate the darkness.
I merely walk through it.
And I, I search for a lantern
that has long forgotten its flame.

VII.
O judge my cry not as rebellion
but as the pilgrimage of a heart that bleeds for justice.
I ask not for swords,
nor for armies,
nor for wheels of conquest to roll upon my land.
I ask only for eyes
eyes that are not shut by convenience,
ears unclogged from the wax of political comfort,
and hearts unarmored against compassion.
For I, I still believe
that the world can remember humanity
before we forget ourselves entirely.

VIII.
If I err in the passion of my plea, forgive me,
for pain sharpens the tongue
as it dulls the body.
But I, I cannot pretend
that the night is gentle
when my people sleep on the edge of sorrow.

IX.
So hear me, you distant watchers of the earth.
I, a lone voice from a trembling nation,
lift my cry not for vengeance
but for visibility.
I lift my plea not for domination
but for deliverance.
I lift my lament not for power
but for peace.
And I, I stand here, unhidden, unbroken, unbowed,
even as fear circles me like wolves in the tall grass.

X.
Let this be my testament,
my scroll of fire,
my psalm of grief.
If history must record my voice,
let it say:
He spoke because silence was death.
Let it say:
He cried because his heart still hoped.
Let it say:
He stood because kneeling was the only other choice.

For I,
I am a witness
to a nation trembling in the dark,
and I shall not let the darkness
write the final verse.

---

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